


Not Unless You Mean It

by zacian



Series: Tongue Tied [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: (like very light. soft), Established Relationship, F/M, Introspection, Light Angst, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacian/pseuds/zacian
Summary: After years spent honing his skills as a Trainer, Hop still doesn’t feel like he’s quite good enough. Gloria has a different opinion.
Relationships: Hop/Yuuri | Gloria
Series: Tongue Tied [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618846
Comments: 18
Kudos: 119





	Not Unless You Mean It

**Author's Note:**

> this is something of a followup to Skip and a Jump, although you don't necessarily need to have read that to follow along. i wanted to write something that focused more on hop and gloria's interactions, and on hop's inner monologue again, since i really love his character. enjoy! <3

* * *

When Hop announces his plans to battle the Champion for the first time in a long time, it’s a whole production. The press doesn’t shut up about it for weeks leading up to their match, and some of the magazine columns speculating on the various workings of their relationship have Hop rolling.

He’s never stopped being a Trainer. His studies have taken him from the stadium for some time, but he’s never slowed in his practicing, in large part because he’d always known he’d be up here soon enough, standing across from her like he’s done so many times.

The whole boyfriend-and-girlfriend thing adds a new layer to their dynamic in the public eye, the tantalizing idea that he might sweep away everything she’s worked so hard for, and wouldn’t that be a tragedy and a betrayal, given that they’re in love. Hop supposes it’s meant to be dramatic, but he doesn’t really see it that way. Gloria’s gaze is intense, burning lowly, but the smile that tugs up at one corner of her mouth betrays her childlike enthusiasm for the sport and the fact that she’s happy to be here with him.

It isn’t all a farce, of course. Hop really is determined to try and beat her, and she’s determined to make sure he does no such thing, and they’ve been playing this back-and-forth for almost as long as they’ve known each other. It’s too easy to fall into old habits, even when so much and yet so little has changed.

It all comes down to this, now, their sixth Pokémon, the rest having fainted spectacularly in a battle that’s lasted for some hour or so now, or maybe two; Hop isn’t sure he can trust himself to know what time is anymore through the adrenaline. To no one’s surprise, Gloria goes for a Dynamax first. She’s perfected her throw, and she puffs her chest as she lifts the ball with both hands so effortlessly despite her small stature. Hop follows suit, and their Pokémon face off against each other, looking as eager as they ever have. The type matchup isn’t ideal, but Hop’s been training his Inteleon for months, and he thinks Gloria will be surprised when she sees that he knows an Ice-type move now, and—

And Rillaboom comes down on him with Max Overgrowth, sending green shattering to the ground and shattering Hop’s vision with it. Inteleon crashes down and out, retreating back into his ball as Hop reflexively brings it out in front of him.

“Oh, what a crushing defeat for our budding Pokémon professor!”

The announcer seems to come up with new adjectives to describe Hop’s defeats every time. Last time it was “devastating,” and the time before that, “mortifying,” which was particularly tactless in Hop’s opinion.

Gloria twirls around to meet the crowd, waving her arms and breaking out into a wild grin. They’re roaring like they haven’t seen a battle this close in ages, likely because they haven’t, and it must be gratifying seeing the long-awaited return of the Champion’s fiercest rival culminate in something so grand.

When she turns back to Hop, her expression is decidedly less bombastic. Her smile is small and her brows downturned in a look of sympathy she’s shown him many a time, but rarely in the stadium.

“You did great,” she says, bringing a hand up to pinch the mic under her shirt. “Seriously, Hop. That was really down to the wire.”

His smile in return is much larger than hers. “I nearly had you met, didn’t I? Thanks for giving it your all.”

“I should say the same.”

The crowd’s still in a frenzy. Gloria moves across the pitch and Hop, knowing what’s to come next, ambles forward to meet her.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” she says.

Hop’s grin only widens, so she does, cupping his face with one hand when he kisses back. The cheers of the crowd build into a crashing wave that rings in Hop’s ears before Gloria pulls away, eyes and mouth twitching into that same look for a moment before she shows her face to the stands once more.

“Let’s give it up for Trainer Hop, everybody!” she cries, and she takes his hand, lifting his arm up like he’s the one who’s secured victory.

* * *

Life with Sonia and with Gloria is more routine now than it’s ever been, seeing as so much of it revolves around Gloria’s own busy schedule and the work Sonia gives him. On Thursdays, when they’ve ducked away from the bustle of Wyndon following a session of autograph-giving and fawning over each other for the journalists and the cameras, they ride into Hulbury with Sonia. 

The Alolan restaurant that’s opened there recently is cramped and quaint, but they’ve got a curry-filled malasada on the menu that Gloria can’t get enough of, and Hop would be lying if he said he didn’t love it too.

There’s a painting on the wall next to him of a scene set in a place Hop recognizes instantly as Mount Lanakila. At its peak, a girl stands triumphant, black hair whipping in the wind. Beneath the painting, a gold plaque is inscribed with the title: “Lonely at the Top.”

The girl’s back is turned to him and so Hop can’t see her face, but she doesn’t look particularly lonely. Her stance is proud, firm, her legs anchored to the face of the mountain and one arm outstretched at her side, gripping an Ultra Ball. She looks like a queen surveying her kingdom, and Hop thinks her posture and frame bear a striking resemblance to the darling heroine-princess of a certain other island region.

Gloria takes notice of Hop studying the painting and turns to look at it too. “Such a wee thing,” she says, sounding a bit starstruck. “Became the first ever Champion of the region at the tender age of eleven.”

“It’s a real accomplishment,” Hop says admiringly. “A big responsibility, too.”

“Don’t I know it.” Gloria slouches back and sighs like she’s sixteen years old and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Bet you could use some help.” Hop smiles at her, feigning coyness.

She stops slouching, sets her elbows on the table and places her face in her hands, looking at him. “I've already got all the help I could want,” she says, breathily, and Hop has to stifle a laugh.

Sonia returns in time to break their reverie and remind them that they’re not the only two people in the restaurant and so should probably stop making eyes at each other the way that they are. “Okay,” she says, holding a tray of drinks in her hands, “a Lum Berry soda for Hop, a lemonade for Gloria, and a very special grown-up drink for me—Hop, don’t touch.” She seats herself next to Gloria, who eagerly grabs for her glass.

They’ve been playing footsie under the table this whole time, and Hop slips up and accidentally kicks Sonia in the shin, and she gapes at him, scandalized.

“Alola looks pretty and warm,” Gloria says. “We should go there on our honeymoon.”

Hop isn’t sure she quite knows what a honeymoon is; she probably came across the word on some gossip rag and gleaned from the context that it was something that lovers did, and so it was something cool and exciting.

Sonia, who’s been vacantly stirring her drink with a straw, visibly perks up at this, looking like she’s having a vision straight from one of her young adult romance novels. “Oh? Are you two going to get married sometime soon?”

Gloria leans across the table and picks off one of Hop’s chips. “Probably.”

Hop is grateful his skin is dark enough that the blush that creeps up his neck and over his face is barely visible.

Sonia clasps her hands together, and she’s definitely thinking of her romance novels. “You’re so cute together,” she coos. A pause, and then, “Just don’t go rushing into anything. You’re both young and you've got time to figure things out,” but she looks like she wants to say something very different.

“I’ve already started looking at rings,” Gloria says, maintaining eye contact with Hop as she dips her (his) chip into the ketchup she’s splattered all over a napkin on the table.

“Hah. That’s a good joke, Gloria.” His face is still hot.

There’s never been two regional Champions at once in the history of the League, not in Galar or anywhere else. If he could change the rules and make it so that there could be, he’d sooner do that than dethrone her (although given his luck so far, his chances at that are still slim anyway).

As it stands, there’s only one Champion, and she’s strong enough to hold the region together. It tires her sometimes, the responsibility, and Hop knows although she’s worryingly good at hiding it. They’re still children, and they’re still learning as they grow, and in the midst of it they’ve been thrown into something much bigger than themselves.

Gloria’s hands reach over to hold Hop’s as she sips her drink and looks at the painting once more, and under the table he feels her legs come to rest against his.

Sonia launches into a tangent about weddings and legends and the kings of old, but Hop can’t seem to focus on anything except the way the light scatters over the top of Gloria’s head and across her fringe, creating a halo of warmth that looks, if he squints, a little bit like a crown.

* * *

Gloria has asked him on multiple occasions to teach her how to dance. She isn’t good at it, a fact that they both acknowledge (him more reluctantly than her), but she seems determined to master the craft, and so Hop obliges even though she keeps stepping on his toes.

She’s nimble on the pitch and runs with a spry sort of finesse that’s added to her oddball charm. She hasn’t grown much over the years, much to her disappointment, especially given that Hop is now significantly taller than her, but she carries herself gracefully enough when she isn’t slumped over or being pummeled by her own rucksack. So it’s really kind of frustrating that she also happens to have two left feet.

They like to visit Circhester just before the dead of winter sets in, when the cold is sharp but not yet suffocating and the snow that glitters on the brick rooftops is crisp and hasn’t turned to slush or hardened over. They find themselves dancing around the Hero’s Bath, sometimes circling it fully a dozen or so times in one night.

She trips over herself a lot, and sometimes he isn’t sure she’s not just doing it so she has an excuse to fall further into his arms. It’s not like she really needs one.

“Move with me, like this.” His breath comes out in clouds that are almost opaque. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again in a fluid motion, holding her steady with his hands grasping hers, and she watches the movement of his shoes on the cobblestone, trying to match them as best she can. Her form is fine but her rhythm’s off, and she ends up lagging behind him by just a hair.

“I’m going to spin you now,” he says, like he’s warning her, and she grins because that’s her favorite part.

“Okay.”

She rocks on her tiptoes when he turns her once, twice, three times and then some, and he’s kind of impressed, because they’ve never done it this many times and in such quick succession. She seems pleased with herself, and when he pulls her back to him, one hand at the small of her back and the other holding one of hers above their heads, her smile is infectious.

“See? You’re getting the hang of this.” He’s almost afraid to start dancing again in case he’s just jinxed it.

She follows as he leads, paying an inordinate amount of attention to the details that don’t matter much as she tries to mirror him exactly. They’re meant to complement each other, not be perfect reflections, but he can’t bring himself to say it because her smile tells him she’s enjoying it almost as much as she enjoys battling, and that’s saying something.

She’s clumsy when they get back into it, and he has to steel himself and hold her close when she stumbles backwards on her heels.

“Don’t overthink it,” he tells her. “Actually, don’t think at all. Just move with the feeling. You feel it, too, don’t you?” It’s a question he’s asked before and one he’s had to hold back several times since.

“‘Course.” She turns her gaze up from his feet to his eyes. Her pale skin’s blanched even further in the biting chill and her cheeks are flush with cold and maybe something else, too.

They fall into a more synchronized dance with time, slow and easy though Gloria still struggles to keep up.

“Not everyone can be good at this, I guess,” she says when her right foot comes down unintentionally on his and he winces in pain. She doesn’t sound bitter when she says it, just a little crestfallen. “I don’t think I’ll ever be a natural like you.”

“You’re sure you’re not just trying to make me feel better by making yourself look bad?” He’s mostly joking, but there’s a part of him that wants to know for sure.

“No,” she laughs, “I’m just this terrible.”

Hop doesn’t think she’s terrible, and everyone’s got something they’re really good at and really bad at, anyway. She doesn’t dwell on it, though, and she seems to be having fun, and that’s the important thing.

“Spin me again?” she asks, and he does, and their laughter rings through Circhester until he dips her down so far they’re nearly tipping over into the freshly fallen snow.

* * *

Their battles off the pitch are obviously more low-stakes, but to Hop they feel earth-shattering in their importance.

It’s in the Slumbering Weald that they can finally hide themselves from the powers that be, from prying eyes, and from Leon and Sonia in particular.

The mist is thin today and it’s warmer than it should be this time of year. Just enough sunshine filters in from above, dappling the grass that parts under their footfall. Gloria’s gait is noticeably more relaxed and less frenetic than usual as she walks beside him; she’s clearly distracted by the sights around them, her senses on the highest alert.

How long has it been since they were here last? It feels like an eternity, but they navigate the twists and turns and tricks of the light like they’ve mapped it all out, like it’s burned into their memories.

“Here.” They’ve come to the arch at the end of the trail, and in case Hop’s somehow missed it, Gloria points. She rummages through her bag as they stop in front of the ruins and pulls out her one and only Master Ball, and Hop furrows his brow in confusion.

“Zacian is your first choice this time?”

“Just Zacian,” she clarifies, “and you call for Zamazenta. I don’t doubt your other Pokémon are strong, but that’s the only way this can be fair.”

“You want a one-on-one? That’s rather unlike you,” he says, reaching for his own regular Poké Ball. “This’ll be one for the books.”

“We’ll make sure of it.”

Out here, with no audience, he feels differently about their battles, if only slightly. It’s less of a performance, and there’s no one to impress but her. It’s kind of the way he likes it, even if the crowd gets his blood pumping and hearing his name echoed by so many thousands makes him feel lightheaded in the best possible way.

Zamazenta is posing as Hop summons it, and so is Zacian as Gloria expertly throws her Master Ball. It looks like a standoff, the way they form and crouch low to the ground, staring at each other with the same yellow eyes, but they’re ancient rivals and friends and there’s no real malice between them.

The battle lasts nearly as long as their most recent one in Wyndon. They make sure to leave plenty of space between themselves and their Pokémon, because the way the two beasts’ massive bodies jump and clash against each other disrupts everything nearby, sending ripples across the stream and plumes of dust billowing up from the ground. The Weald’s always quiet, but a still silence has settled over it now that feels thick and dreamlike, the only sounds being the howls of the Legendary Pokémon and the two Trainers who command them.

At the end of it, Zacian’s mighty jaws flash blue and it fells Zamazenta with a well-timed Behemoth Blade, and Hop thinks there’s something poetic about it all, the way his partner readies itself to defend, shield up, but it’s not fast enough and the sword shatters like crystal against its huge body. Zamazenta gives one last howl and then staggers, collapses, legs giving out under its own weight, and returns to Hop.

They’re both breathing hard, him and Gloria, and the hem of her dress flaps one last time in the gust that Zacian leaves in its wake as it lands heavily on its paws. Hop swallows, letting the breath he’s been holding for some time now leave his lungs, and he holds Zamazenta’s Poké Ball to his chest, murmuring thanks.

Zacian turns to look at its Trainer. There are scratches on its haunches and it limps slightly as it walks over to her at her unspoken behest. Gloria all but falls forward and wraps her arms around the Pokémon’s neck, touching her forehead to its own and stroking the fur just behind its ears. After a moment, Hop joins her, burying his face in Zacian’s shoulder.

“That battle was something else,” Gloria says, and it takes Hop a moment to realize she isn’t talking to Zacian but to him. “Thank you, Hop.” Zacian turns its head slightly to look at him, like it shares in her sentiments.

“Anytime.” One hand comes up to brush the top of Zacian’s head. “It’s all to Zamazenta’s credit anyway. It was doing all the heavy lifting.”

“But you really are a skilled Trainer.” She lets go of Zacian’s neck and puts a hand on his shoulder, and he leans into her touch despite himself. The Weald is still quiet, but the chirp of the stream and the hesitant noises of the Pokémon coming out of hiding slowly bring it back to life.

“You don’t have to humor me like this,” he says, and hears an immediate, gravelly huff of surprise from Zacian. 

Gloria frowns, and her face twists into an expression he’s never seen her make before, something akin to hurt. “I’m not humoring you.”

It was a mistake, opening his mouth, like it has been many times before, but like all those times before he can’t stop now. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I’m not up to snuff. At least, I don’t feel like I am. I keep thinking things will be different the next time we battle, that I’ll finally get closer to being your equal, but the reality doesn’t match up to what I've got pictured. You can imagine how I feel.”

By her own admission, Gloria isn’t the most emotionally intelligent person, but she says, “Yeah. I can.”

Zacian whines softly and lowers its head to its front paws, eyes fluttering shut and breathing beginning to even out. Gloria pulls back and shifts closer to Hop, and they sit on the steps underneath the arch.

“But I was always honest when I said you were my best rival. Really—who else has consistently come this close to taking my throne?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Hop begins to rack his brain in search of answers.

His hand comes over to hold hers when he finds none, but it’s not enough for Gloria. She embraces him fully and pulls him in so close they’re practically melding together. Her face is against his chest so the words that buzz through it are muffled, but he thinks he knows what they are, and even though they’ve both known it for all the years they’ve been alive he still feels almost dizzy when he says it back.

They stay like that for a while, until Gloria withdraws to call Zacian back into its ball for a proper rest. Hop bolts up first, like he, too, has just been reenergized, and he challenges her to a race for the first time since they were much younger. They weave their way through the Weald like they’re being chased, and Hop has her beat by half a second when they come out the other side.

* * *

Gloria points out that the way he dances is a lot like the way he battles.

“You seem kinda flustered when you do both,” she explains, “especially when it’s with me.”

She insists that they dance to a different tune this time, and she goes and puts on a brassy melody that’s older than them by many decades and from Unova. One hand on Gloria’s tiny shoulder and the other holding her own delicately, he can close his eyes and feel almost like they’re in Castelia City by night, overlooking the lights of the skyscrapers that shimmer over the water in the port, rather than in Sonia’s lab.

Hop is less flustered when he dances than when he battles. It’s easy to move to the tempo of this song in particular, and he feels like all the tension he’s been holding is shed as he does. 

Gloria is slack against him, and it’s nice to see her forget about everything that weighs her down in her daily life, if only for a moment. Under the dim light of the room, surrounded by bookshelves and live plants, she’s not a heroine or a princess or a queen or any kind of royalty, for that matter; she’s just Gloria, and she’s just sixteen and having a good time with a boy she maybe actually really loves.

“Have you ever thought of going on holiday to Unova?” he asks, because he’s curious as to where she got this idea in the first place and because he’s secretly hoping she’ll say yes.

“Not really,” she says, “but I’m not exactly opposed to it.”

Hop makes a note of this and reminds himself to ask Sonia if she’ll consider helping him raise the necessary funds.

Galar is home, and it’s beautiful, but it’s all they’ve known, and there must be more for them to do, more to see and to learn. Hop thinks that once he’s a full-fledged professor he’ll be doing a lot of sightseeing in his travels to help people and Pokémon, and he hopes Gloria can accompany him.

He lifts her up off the floor as he whirls them both around in a circle. It’s not part of the dance, but Hop’s not a stickler for the rules and he’s definitely not against improvising as they go along, and if Gloria’s giggling is anything to go by, she isn’t either. When her feet connect with the tile again, she’s unsteady and almost falls, but Hop sees it coming and catches her. It’s not the first time and he knows it won’t be the last.

She seems happy as Champion, despite everything, carrying the crown that’s far too big for her head. She won’t admit that she needs help when she does, but she’s capable enough, and he knows she appreciates that he walks beside her always, holding her steady when her balance is thrown. Maybe Hop’s never climbed his way exactly to her spot, but the weight of her shadow doesn’t fall over him like he might expect. He isn’t too prideful or too sullen to admit that basking in the glow of her winning smile is its own reward, and one he never tires of.

Her smile now, too, broader than any she’s shown on TV, has its charm. He’ll be happy if this is one thing that never changes.

She hasn’t given up learning how to dance. Hop thinks he shouldn’t give up yet either. She asks him to show her how she’s meant to sway like he does to the music, and he tries, and his praise is sincere and smiling though she’s still slightly offbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> hop's second battle theme is what gave me the inspiration for the dance scenes. it's so good and so slept on...


End file.
